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SOME ACCOUNT 

OF THE 

PERSECUTIONS AND SUFFERINGS 

OF THE 

PEOPLE CALLED^QUAKERS, 

IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY, 

EXEMPLIFIED IN 

THE MEMOIRS 

OF T&LK 

LIFE OF JOHN ROBERTS. 
1665, 

BY DANIEL ROBERTS. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

KIMBER & SHARPLESS, 
NO. JO NORTH FOURTH ST. 

1840. 



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-ttOT|- 



J. RicMrds, Printer, 

No. 130 North Third Street. 



LC Control Number 




tmp96 028851 



SOME MEMOIRS 

OF THE 

LIFE OF JOHN ROBERTS. 



*W 



i 



I have had it on my mind, for some years past, 
to commit to writing some memorable passages, 
the chief of which were transacted in my time ; 
together with some short account of our family. 

My grandfather's name was John Roberts, 
alias Hayward. He lived at a village called Sid- 
dington, within a mile of Cirencester, in Glou- 
cestershire. I have heard he lived reputably on 
a little estate of his own, which he occupied. He 
married Mary Solliss, sister to Andrew 'Solliss, 
Esq., who was in the commission of the peace, 
and sustained great spoil in the time of the civil 
war between King Charles I. and the parliament. 
I have heard that a colonel and his men, and 
horses, quartered themselves upon him a con- 
siderable time together, turning their horses to 
the corn and hay-mows. 

My father and his next neighbour went into 
the army under Oliver Cromwell, and continued 
till they heard Cirencester was taken by the 
king's party ; when they thought proper to re- 
turn home, to see how it fared with their parents 
and relations. 



MEMOIRS OF 



As they were passing by Cirencester, they 
were discovered and pursued by two soldiers of 
the king's party, then in possession of the town. 
Seeing themselves pursued, they quitted their 
horses and took to their heels ; but by reason of 
their accoutrements, could make little speed. — 
They came up with my father first ; and though 
he begged for quarter, none they would give him, 
but laid on him with their swords, cutting and 
slashing his hands and arms, which he held up 
to save his head ; as the marks upon them did 
long after testify. At length it pleased the Al- 
mighty to put it into his mind to fall down on 
his face ; which he did. Hereupon the soldiers, 
being on horseback, cried to each other, "Alight, 
and cut his throat!" but neither of them did ; yet 
continued to strike and prick him about the jaws, 
till they thought him dead. Then they left him, 
and pursued his neighbor, whom they presently 
overtook and killed. Soon after they had left 
my father, it was said in his heart, " Rise, and 
flee for thy life !" Which call he obeyed ; and 
starting upon his feet, his enemies espied him in 
motion, and pursued him again. He ran down 
a steep hill, and through a river which ran at the 
bottom of it; though with exceeding difficulty, his 
boots filling with water, and his wounds bleeding 
very much. They followed him to the top of the 
hill ; but seeing he had got over, pursued him no 
farther. He was at a loss which way to take in 
this wounded and disconsolate condition, being 
surrounded with enemies on every hand. At 
length he determined to go to his uncle Solliss's ; 
from whence he sent a servant to a widow at Ci- 



JOHN ROBERTS, 5 

rencester (at whose house the chief officers lay) 
with whom he was acquainted, desiring her to 
come to him ; which she readily did, and offered 
him all the service in her power. He desired 
her, as the principal officers lay at her house, to 
use her interest with them to give command that 
none of the soldiers might offer him any abuse ; 
which she effected ; and in good will to her they 
likewise sent their ablest surgeon to him. He 
was a man of great skill, but of a sour disposi- 
tion ; for he told my father "if he had met him 
in the field, he would have killed him himself; 
but now," said he, " I'll cure you ;" which he did. 
When my father found himself able, he went to 
his father's house, and found him very ill in bed. 
They greeted each other with many tears, and a 
great intermixture of joy and sorrow. After some 
time, my father perceived him to tremble to such 
a degree, that the bed shook under him. Upon 
which my father asked him how it was with 
him ? He replied, " I am well; I feel no pain ; 
'tis the mighty power of God that shakes me," 
After lying still some time, he broke out in a 
sweet melody of spirit, saying, " In the Lord 
only have I righteousness and strength ! In God 
have I salvation !" I don't remember to have 
heard he said any thing more before his depar- 
ture. 

The civil war continuing, my father found he 
could not be safe at home, and therefore he went 
again, and continued till near the conclusion of 
that dreadful eruption ; when he returned again 
to his sorrowful family at Siddington. After 
some time he took to wife Lydia Tindal, daugh- 
1* 



6 MEMOIRS OF 

ter of Thomas Tindal, of Slincomb, near Durs- 
ley, a religious family, and one of those under 
the denomination of Puritans. Matthew Hale, 
afterwards Lord Chief Justice of England, was 
her kinsman, and drew her marriage settlement. 
It pleased God to give them six children, viz. 
John, Joseph, Lydia, Thomas, Nathaniel, and 
Daniel. Joseph and Lydia died young ; Thomas 
was killed, at the age of fourteen, by a kick from 
a horse ; the rest living to man's estate. 

In the year 1665, it pleased the Lord to send 
two women Friends out of the north to Ciren- 
cester ; who, inquiring after such as feared God, 
were directed to my father, as the likeliest per- 
son to entertain them. They came to his house, 
and desired a meeting. He granted it, and in- 
vited several of his acquaintance to sit with them. 
After some time of silence, the Friends spake a 
few words, which had a good effect. After the 
meeting, my father endeavoured to engage them 
in discourse ; but they said little, only recom- 
mended him to Richard Farns worth, then pri- 
soner for the testimony of truth in Banbury jail, 
to whom they were going. Upon the recom- 
mendation my father went shortly after to the 
prison, in order to converse with Richard, where 
he met with the two women who had been at 
his house. The turnkey was denying them en- 
trance, and telling them " he had an order not 
to let any of those giddy-headed people in ; and 
therefore, if they did go in, he would keep them 
there." But at my father's desire they were 
admitted in along with him, and conducted thro' 
several rooms, to a dungeon, where Richard 



JOHN ROBERTS. 7 

Farnsworth was preaching through a grate to the 
people in the street. But soon after they came 
in he desisted ; and, after a little time of silence, 
turning to them, he spoke to this purpose : "That 
Zaccheus being a man of low stature, and having 
a mind to see Christ, ran before, and climbed up 
into a sycamore-tree : and our Saviour knowing 
his good desires, called to him, ' Zaccheus, come 
down ! this day is salvation come to thy house.' 
Thus Zaccheus was like some in our day, who 
are climbing up into the tree of Knowledge, 
thinking to find Christ there. But the word now 
is, ' Zaccheus, come down ! come down ! for that 
which is to be known of God is manifested with- 
inS ' This, with more to the same purpose, 
was spoken in such authority, that, when my 
father came home, he told my mother " he had 
seen Richard Farnsworth, who had spoke to his 
condition as if he had known him from his youth." 
And after this time he patiently bore the cross ; 
and afterwards, when it pleased God to commu- 
nicate to him a portion of the knowledge of his 
blessed truth, a necessity was laid upon him, one 
first-day morning, to go to the public worship- 
house in Cirencester, in the time of worship, not 
knowing what might be required of him there. 
He went ; and, standing with his hat on, the 
priest was silent for some time : but being asked 
" Why he did not go on?" he answered, M He 
could not, while that man stood with his hat on." 
Upon this, some took him by the arm and led 
him into the street, staying at the door to keep 
him out : but, after waiting a little in stillness, 
he found himself clear, and passed away. As 



8 MEMOIRS 6$ 

he passed the market-place, the tie of his shoe 
slackened ; and, while he stooped down to fasten 
it, a man came behind him, and struck him on 
the back a hard blow with a stone, saying, 
" There, take that for Jesus Christ's sake." He 
answered, " So I do ;" not looking back to see 
who it was, but quietly going his way. A few 
days after, a man came and asked him forgive- 
ness ; telling him " he was the unhappy man 
that gave him the blow on his back, and he could 
have no rest since he had done it." 

Not long after, three Friends came that way, 
who found the like concern, viz. Robert Silves- 
ter, Philip Grey, and Thomas Onyon. These 
standing in the steeple-house with their hats on, 
though they said nothing, the priest was silent : 
and being asked " If he was not well ?" he an- 
swered, " He could not go forward while those 
dumb dogs stood there." Whereupon the peo- 
ple dragged them out : and the priest afterwards 
informing a justice that they interrupted him in 
divine service, they were bound over to the quar- 
ter sessions. My father, at their desire, accom- 
panied them to the sessions : and, when they 
were called, and the priest had accused them, 
the bench, in a rage, without asking them any 
questions, ordered their mittimuses to be made. 
This unjust and illegal proceeding kindled my 
father's zeal ; insomuch that he, stepping for- 
ward, called to the justices, saying, "Are not 
those who sit on the bench sworn to do justice ? 
Is there not a man among you that will do the 
thing that is right?" Whereupon John Stephens 
of Lypeat (then chairman) cried out, " Who are 



JOHN ROBERTS. 9 

you, sirrah ? What is your name ?" My father 
telling him his name, he said, "lam glad I have 
you here, I have heard of you : you deserve a 
stone doublet: there's many an honester man 
than you hanged." "It may be so," answered 
my father; "but what dost thou think becomes 
of those that hang honest men?" The justice 
replied, " I'll send you to prison ; and if any in- 
surrection or tumult be in the land, I'll come and 
cut your throat first with my own sword ; for I 
fear to sleep in my bed, lest such fanatics should 
come and cut my throat." And snatching up a 
ball of wax, violently threw it at my father ; who 
avoided the blow by stepping aside. Their mit- 
timuses were then made, and they were all sent 
to prison. 

The same evening my uncle Solliss, who was 
one of the justices on the bench, came to the 
prison; and calling for my father, asked him "if 
he was willing to have his liberty to go home to 
his wife and family?" " Upon what terms, 
uncle?" said my father. 

Justice. Upon such terms, that the jailer open 
the doors and let you out. 

John Roberts. What! without entering into 
any recognizance ? 

Jus. Yes. 

J. R. Then I accept of my liberty. But I 
admire, uncle, how thou and several others could 
sit upon that bench as with your thumbs in your 
mouths, when you should speak a word in behalf 
of the innocent. 

Jus. You must learn to live under a law, cou- 
sin. And if you'll accept of your liberty, till 



10 MEMOIRS OF 

next sessions, you may have it: if not, stay 
where you are. 

So they parted ; and on the morrow my father 
went home, having also the jailer's leave. 

In the night, a concern came upon him with 
such weight, that it made him tremble. My mo- 
ther asking the reason of it, he answered, " The 
Lord requires hard things of me; if it would 
please him, I had rather lay down my life than 
disobey him in what he requires at my hands." 
To which my mother replied, " If thou art fully 
persuaded that the Lord requires it of thee, I 
would not have thee disobey him ; for he will re- 
quire nothing of us but what he will enable us to 
go through: therefore we have good cause to 
trust in him." On which he said, " I must go 
to this John Stephens, who is my great enemy, 
and sent me to prison, where he said he would 
secure me; and, as my uncle Solliss in kindness 
has given me leave to come home, I can expect 
no more favor from him, if I now go and run 
myself into the mouth of my adversary. But I 
must go, whatever I suffer." He arose, and pre- 
pared for his journey ; but durst eat or drink noth- 
ing. When he mounted his horse, the command 
of the Lord was to him, " Remember Lof s wife; 
look not back." So on he rode very cheerfully 
eight or nine miles, till he came within sight of 
the justice's house; and then he let in the rea- 
soner, who reasoned him out of all his courage, 
presenting to his mind, that his uncle Solliss and 
his neighbors would say "he had no regard for 
his wife and family, thus to push himself into 
the hands of his greatest enemy." This brought 



JOHN ROBERTS. 11 

such a cloud over his mind, that he alighted off 
his horse and sat down upon the ground, to 
spread his cause before the Lord. After he had 
waited some time in silence, the Lord appeared 
and dissipated the cloud, and his word was to 
him, " Go, and I will go with thee, and will 
give thee a thrashing instrument, and thou shalt 
thrash the mountains." Now he was exceed- 
ingly overcome with the love of God : and I have 
often heard him say he was filled like a vessel 
that wanted vent, and said in his heart, thy pre- 
sence is enough, and proceeded to the house with 
great satisfaction. It being pretty early in the 
morning, and seeing the stable door open, he 
went to the groom, and desired him to put up 
his horse. While this was doing, the justice's 
son and his clerk came up, who roughly said, "X 
thought you had been in Gloucester castle." 

John Roberts. So I was. 

Clerk. And how came you out? 

J. R. When thou hast authority to demand 
it, I can give thee an answer. But my business 
is with thy master, if I may speak with him. 

Clerk* You may if you will promise to be 
civil. 

J. R. If thou seest me uncivil, I desire thee 
to tell me of it. % 

They went in ; and my father following them, 
they bid him take a turn in the hall, and they 
would acquaint the justice of his being there. — 
He was soon called in ; and my father no sooner 
saw him, but he believed that the Lord had been 
at work upon him ; for as he behaved to him with 
the fierceness of a lion before, he now appeared 



12 MEMOIRS OF 

to him like a lamb, meeting him with a pleasant 
countenance, and taking him by the hand, said, 
" Friend Haywood, how do you do ?" My father 
answered, " Pretty well ;" and then proceeded 
thus : " I am come in the fear and dread of Hea- 
ven, to warn thee to repent of thy wickedness 
with speed, lest the Lord cut the thread of thy 
life, and send thee to the pit that is bottomless. 
I am come to warn thee in great love, whether 
thou wilt hear or forbear, and to preach the ever- 
lasting gospel to thee." The justice replied, 
"You are a welcome messenger to me; that is 
what I have long desired to hear." " The ever- 
lasting gospel," returned my father, "is the same 
that God sent his servant John to declare, when 
he saw an angel fly through the midst of heaven, 
saying with a loud voice, 4 Fear God, and give 
glory to his name, and worship him who made 
heaven and earth, the sea, and the fountains of 
water.' " The justice then caused my father to 
sit down by him on his couch, and said, " I be- 
lieve your message is of God, and I receive it as 
such. I am sorry I have done you wrong; I 
will never wrong you more. I would pray you 
to forgive me, and to pray to God to forgive me." 
After much more discourse, he offered my father 
the best entertainment his house afforded; but 
my father excused himself from eating or drink- 
ing with him at that time, expressing his kind 
acceptance of his love ; and so in much love they 
parted. 

The same day William Dewsbury had appoint- 
ed a meeting at Tedbury ; whither my mother 
went. But she was so concerned on account of 



JOHN ROBERTS. 13 

my father's exercise, that she could receive little 
benefit from the meeting. After the meeting was 
ended, William Dewsbury walked to and fro in 
a long passage, groaning in spirit ; and by and 
by came up to my mother; and, though she was 
a stranger to him, he laid his hand upon her 
head, and said, "Woman, thy sorrow is great; 
I sorrow with thee." Then walking a little to 
and fro as before, he came to her again, and said, 
" Now the time is come, that those who marry 
must be as though they married not, and those 
who have husbands as though they had none; for 
the Lord calls for all to be offered up." By this 
she saw the Lord had given him a sense of her 
great burthen; for she had not discovered her 
exercise to any : and it gave her such ease in her 
mind, that she went home rejoicing in the Lord. 
She no sooner got home, but she found my fa- 
ther returned from Lypeat, where his message 
was received in such love as was far from their 
expectation ; the sense of which much broke them 
into tears, in consideration of the great goodness 
of God, in so eminently making way for and 
helping them that day. 

At the next sessions my father and the three 
Friends appeared in court; where, as soon as 
justice Stephens espied them, he called to my 
father, and said, " John, I accept your appear- 
ance, and discharge you; and the court discharges 
you. You may go about your business." But 
my father, thinking his work not quite done, did 
not hasten out of court. Upon which the clerk 
demanded his fees. " What dost thou mean, 
money?" says my father. "Yes; what do you 

2 



14 MEMOIRS OF 

think I mean?" says the clerk. My father re- 
plied, " I don't know that I owe any man here 
any thing but love ; and must I now purchase 
my liberty with money? I don't accept it on 
such terms." 

Clerk, (to the chairman.) An't please your 
worship, John won't pay the fees of the court. 

John Roberts. I don't accept my liberty on 
such terms. 

Then he was ordered to prison with the three 
Friends, but in the evening the clerk discharged 
them, and ever after carried himself very kindly 
to my father. 

He was afterwards cast into prison at Ciren- 
cester, by George Bull, vicar of Upper Sidding- 
ton, for tithes ; where was confined at the same 
time, upon the same account, Elizabeth Hewl- 
ings, a widow of Amney, near Cirencester. She 
was a good Christian, and so good a midwife, 
that her confinement was a loss to that side of 
the country; insomuch that lady Dunch of Down- 
Amney, thought it would be an act of charity to 
the neighborhood to purchase her liberty, by pay- 
ing the priest's demand ; which she did. She 
likewise came to Cirencester in a coach, and sent 
her footman, Alexander Cornwall, to the prison, 
to bring Elizabeth to her. And while Elizabeth 
was making ready to go with the man, my fa- 
ther and he fell into a little discourse. He asked 
my father his name, and where his home was, 
which when my father had told him, " What," 
said he, " are you that John Haywood, of Sid- 
dington, who keeps great conventicles at your 
house?" My father answared, "The church of 



JOHN ROBERTS. 15 

Christ often meets at my house. I suppose I am 
the man thou meanest." "I have often," re- 
plied Cornwall, " heard my lady speak of you; 
and I am sure she would gladly be acquainted 
with you." When he returned to his lady, he 
told her he had met with such a man in the pris- 
on, as he believed she would not suffer to lie in 
prison for conscience-sake; informing her withal 
who it was. She immediately bid him go back 
and fetch him to her. Accordingly he came to 
the jail, and told my father his lady wanted to 
speak with him. My father answered, " If any 
body would speak with me, they must come 
where I am ; for I am a prisoner." "Oh," said 
Cornwall, "I'll get leave of the jailer for you to 
go." Which he did. And when they came be- 
fore the lady, she put on a majestic air, to see 
how the Quaker would greet her. He went up 
towards her, and bluntly said, " Woman, wouldst 
thou speak with me ?" 

Lady. What's your name ? 

John Roberts. My name is John Roberts; 
but I am commonly known by the name of John 
Haywood in the place where I live. 

Lady. Where do you live ? 

J. R. At a village called Siddington, about a 
mile distant from this town. 

Lady. Are you the man that keeps conven- 
ticles at your house ? 

J. R. The church of Christ do often meet at 
my house. I presume I am the man thou mean- 
est. 

Lady. What do you lie in prison for? 

J. R. Because, for conscience-sake, I can't 



16 MEMOIRS OF 

pay a hireling priest what he demands of me; 
therefore he, like the false prophets of old, pre- 
pares war against me, because I cannot put into 
his mouth. 

Lady. By what I have heard of you, I took 
you to be a wise man ; and if you could not pay 
him yourself, you might let somebody else pay 
him for you. 

J. R. That would be underhand dealings; 
and I had rather pay him myself than be such a 
hypocrite. 

Lady. Then suppose some neighbor or friend 
should pay him for you, unknown to you, would 
you choose to lie in prison when you might have 
your liberty ? 

J. R. I am very well content where I am, till 
it shall please God to make way for my freedom. 

Lady. I have a mind to set you at liberty, 
that I may have some of your company, which 
I cannot well have while you are in the prison. 

Then speaking to her man, she bid him go to 
the priest's attorney, and tell him she would sat- 
isfy him; and then pay the jailer his fees, and 
get a horse for my father to go to Down-Amney 
with her. 

J. R. If thou art a charitable woman, as I 
take thee to be, there are abroad in the world 
many real objects of charity, on whom to bestow 
thy bounty. But to feed such devourers as these, 
I don't think to be charity. They are like Pha- 
raoh's lean kine ; they cat up the fat and the 
goodly, and look not a whit the better. 

Lady. Well, I would have you to get ready 
to go with us. 



JOHN ROBERTS. 17 

J. R. I don't know as thou art like to have 
me when thou hast bought and paid for me ; for 
if I may have my liberty, I shall think it my 
place to be at home with my wife and family. — 
But, if thou desirest it, I intend to come and see 
thee at Down-Amney some other time. 

Lady. That will suit me better. But set your 
time, and I'll lay aside all other business to have 
your company. 

J. R. If it please God to give me life, health 
and liberty, I intend to come on seventh-day 
next, the day thou callest Saturday. 

Lady. Is that as far as you use to promise ? 

J.R. Yes. 

According to his appointment, my father went; 
and found her very inquisitive about the things 
of God, and very attentive to the truths he de- 
livered. She engaged him likewise a second 
time, and treated him with abundanee of regard. 
A third time she bid her man Cornwall to go to 
him, and desire him to appoint a day when he 
would pay her another visit: and then ordered 
♦him to go to Priest Careless, of Cirencester, and 
desire him to come and take a dinner with her 
at the same time ; and not let either of them know 
the other was to be there. On the day appoint- 
ed my father went; and when he had got within 
s<ight of her house, he heard a horse behind him, 
and looking back, he saw the priest following 
him ; which made him conclude the lady had 
projected to bring them together. When the 
priest came up to him, " Well overtaken, John," 
said he; "how far are you going this way?" — 
My father answered, "I believe we are both go- 



18 MEMOIRS OF 

ing to the same place." "What," said Care- 
less, "are you going to the great house ?"~ 
"Yes," said my father. "Come on then, John," 
said he. So then they went in together. And 
the lady being ill in bed, a servant went up and 
informed her they were come. "What," said 
she, "did they come together?" "Yes," an- 
swered the servant. "I admire at that," said 
she. " But do you beckon John out, and bring 
him to me first up the hack stairs." When my 
father came up, she told him she had been very 
ill in a fit of the stone; and said, "I have heard 
you have done good in many distempers." 

J. R. I confess I have ; but to this of the stone 
I am a stranger. Indeed T once knew a man, 
who lived at ease, and fared delicately, as thou 
mayst do, and whilst he continued in that prac- 
tice he was much afflicted with that distemper. 
But it pleased the Lord to visit him with the 
knowledge of his blessed truth, which brought 
him to a more regular and temperate life, and this 
preserved him more free from it. 

Lady. Oh ! 1 know what you aim at. You 
want to have me a Quaker. And I confess if I 
could be such a one as you are, I would be a 
Quaker to-morrow. But I understand Mr. Care- 
less is below ; and though you are men of differ- 
ent persuasions, I account you both wise and 
godly men; and some moderate discourse of the 
things of God between you, I believe would do 
me good. 

J. R. If he ask me any questions, as the Lord 
shall enable me, I shall endeavor to give him an 
answer. 



JOHN ROBERTS. 19 

She then had the parson up; and after a 
compliment or two, said, " I made bold to send 
for you, to take an ordinary dinner with me, 
though I am disappointed of yonr company by 
my illness. But John Haywood and you, being 
persons of different persuasions (though I believe 
both good christians) if you would soberly ask 
and answer each other a few questions, it would 
divert me, so that I should be less sensible of the 
pains I lie under." 

Priest. An't please your ladyship, I see no- 
thing in that. 

Lady. Pray, Mr. Careless, ask John some 
questions. 

Priest. It will not edify your ladyship ; for 
I have discoursed John, and several others of his 
persuasion, divers times, and I have read their 
books, and all to no purpose ; for they sprung 
from the Papists, and hold the same doctrine the 
Papists do. Let John deny it if he can. 

J. R. I find thou art setting us out in very 
black characters with design to affright me ; but 
therein thou wilt be mistaken. I advise thee to 
say no worse of us than thou canst make out, and 
then make us as black as thou canst. And if thou 
canst prove me a Papist in one thing, with the 
help of God I'll prove thee like them in ten. — 
And this woman, who lies here in bed, shall be 
judge. 

Priest. The Quakers hold that damnable do-c- 
trine, and dangerous tenet, of perfection in this 
life; and so do the Papists. If you go about to 
deny it, John, I can prove you hold it. 

J. R. I doubt thou art now going about to 



20 MEMOIRS OF 

belie the Papists behind their backs, as thon hast 
heretofore done by us. For, by what I have 
learnt of their principles, they do not believe a 
state of freedom from sin, and acceptance with 
God, possible on this side the grave ; and there- 
fore they have imagined to themselves a place of 
purgation after death. But whether they be- 
lieve such a state attainable or no, I do. 

Priest. An't please your ladyship, John has 
confessed enough out of his own mouth ; for that 
is a damnable doctrine, and dangerous tenet. 

J. R. I would ask thee one question: Dost 
thou own a purgatory? 

Priest. No. 

J. R. Then the Papists, in this case, are 
wiser than thou. They own the saying of Christ, 
who told the unbelieving Jews, if they died in 
their sins, whither he went they could not come. 
But, by thy discourse, thou, and thy followers, 
must needs 20 headlong to destruction ; since 
thou neither ownest a place of purgation after 
death, nor such a preparation for heaven to be 
possible in this life, as is absolutely necessary. 
The scripture, thou knowest, tells us, "where 
death leaves us, judgment will find us. If a tree 
falls towards the north or the south, there it must 
lie." And since "no unclean thing can enter the 
kingdom of heaven," pray tell this poor woman, 
whom thou hast been preaching to for thy belly, 
whether ever, or never, she must expect to be 
freed from her sins, and made fit for the kingdom 
of heaven ; or whether the blind must lead the 
blind till both fall into the ditch. 

Priest. No, John, you mistake me: I believe 



JOHN ROBERTS. 2i 

that God Almighty is able of his great mercy to 
forgive persons their sins, and fit them for hea- 
ven, a little before they depart this life. 

J. R. I believe the same. But, if thou wilt 
limit the Holy One of Israel, how long wilt thou 
give the Lord to fit a person for his glorious 
kingdom ? 

Priest. It may be an hour or two. 

J. R. My faith is a day or two, as well as an 
hour or two. 

Priest. I believe so too. 

J. R. Or a week or two. [And my father 
carried it to a month or two ; and so gradually 
till he brought it to seven years, the priest con- 
fessing he believed the same. On which my father 
thus proceeded :] How couldst thou accuse me 
of Popery, in holding this doctrine, which thou 
thyself has confessed ? If I am like a Papist, thou 
art, by thy own confession, as much a Papist as 
I am. And if it be a damnable doctrine and dan- 
gerous tenet in the Quakers, is it not the same in 
thyself? Thou told me I mistook thee; but hast 
not thou mistaken thyself, in condemning thy own 
acknowledged opinion when uttered by me ? — 
But notwithstanding thou hast failed in making 
me out to be a Papist in this particular, canst thou 
do it in any thing else ? [Upon this the priest be- 
ing mute, my father thus proceeded:] Well, tho' 
thou hast failed in proving me like them, it needs 
not hinder me from showing thee to be so in many 
things. For instance, you build houses and con- 
secrate them, calling them churches ; as do the 
Papists. You hang bells in them and consecrate 
them, calling them by the name of saints; so do 



22 MEMOIRS OF 

they, The pope and the priests of the Romish 
church wear surplices, gowns, cassocks, &c. call- 
ing them their ornaments! here thou hast the like: 
and dost not thou style them thy ornaments? — 
You consecrate the ground where you inter your 
dead, calling it holy ground; so do they. In 
short, thou art like a Papist in so many things, 
he had need be a wise man to distinguish betwixt 
them and thee. 

At this the priest appeared uneasy, and said to 
the lady, " Madam, I must beg your excuse; for 
there's to be a lecture this afternoon, and I must 
be there." She pressed him to stay to dinner; but 
he earnestly desired to be excused. So a slice 
or two being cut off the spit, he ate, and took his 
leave. 

The lady then said to my father, "Had she 
not seen it, she could not have believed Mr. Care- 
less could have been so foiled in discourse by any 
man: for," said she, "I accounted him as sound 
and orthodox a divine as any was ; but now I 
must tell you, I am so far of your opinion, that 
if you'll let me know when you have a meeting 
at your house, and somebody to preach (not a 
silent meeting) I'll come and hear them myself." 
My father answered, " He expected she would 
be as good as her word." Not long after came 
two Friends to my father's house ; and though 
the weather was very severe, he found he could 
not be easy without acquainting her with it. So 
he went to her house ; but she seemed a little 
surprised, saying, " What's your will now, 
John?" He informed her of the two Friends, 
and their intention of having a meeting at his 



JOHN ROBERTS. 23 

house. " How can you expect," said she, " that 
I should go out such weather as this ? You know 
I seldom stir out of ray chamber, and to go so 
far will endanger my health." My father re- 
turned, "I would not have thee make excuses, 
as some of old did, and were not found worthy. 
Thou knowest time is none of ours ; and we know 
not whether we may have the like opportunity 
again. The snow need not much incommode 
thee : thou mayst be quickly in thy coach, and, 
putting up the glasses, mayst be pretty warm ; 
and when thou comest to my house, I know my 
wife will do her best for thee." So she ordered 
her coach and six to be got ready, (for the dis- 
tance was seven miles,) saying, " John's like 
death, he'll not be denied." My father came 
along with her; and, during the time of silence 
in the meeting, she appeared something restless ; 
but was very attentive whilst either of the Friends 
were speaking. She was very well pleased after 
the meeting, and sat at table with the Friends. — 
When the rest sat silent, she would be frequently 
whispering to my mother, till one of them spake 
a few words before meat, She was ashamed, 
and told my mother " when she was among the 
great, she was accounted a wise woman ; but 
now," said she, "I am among you Quakers, I 
am a very fool." Presently after dinner, she re- 
turned home, and came several times to the meet- 
ing afterwards ; and I am fully persuaded she was 
convinced of the truth ; but, going up to London, 
she was there taken ill and died. 

Her man, Alexander Cornwall, was convinced 
of the truth, and was afterwards a prisoner with 



24 MEMOIRS OF 

my father in Gloucester Castle; where the jailer 
was very cruel to them, sometimes putting them 
into the common jail among felons, and at other 
times he would hire a tinker, (who # lay for his 
fees,) to trouble them in the night by playing on 
his hautboy. One time in particular, my father 
being concerned to speak to him in the dread and 
power of God, it struck him to such a degree, 
that he dropped the instrument out of his hand, 
and would never take it into hand upon that oc- 
casion any more. When the jailer asked him, 
" Why he discontinued it?" he answered, "They 
are the servants of the living God, and I'll never 
play more to disturb them, if you hang me up at 
the door for it." " What!" said the jailer, "are 
you bewitched too? I'll turn you out of the cas- 
tle." Which he did ; and the Friends, who were 
there prisoners, raised him some money, clothed 
him, and away he went. 

Some time after, my father had three confer- 
ences with Nicholson, bishop of Glou- 
cester, introduced in the following manner: An 
apparitor came to cite my father to appear at the 
bishop's court; but he told my father he could 
not encourage him to come, lest they should en- 
snare him and send him to prison. At the same 
time he cited a servant of my father's, named 
John Overall. My father went at the time ap- 
pointed, without his servant; and when his name 
was called over, he answered to it. The discourse 
that occurred was in substance as follows: 

Bishop. What's your name ? 

J. Roberts. I have been called by my name, 
and answered to it. 



JOHN ROBERTS, 25 

Bishop. I desire to hear it again. 

J. R. My name is John Roberts. 

Bishop. Well, you were born Roberts, but 
you were not born John. Pray who gave you 
that name? 

J. R. Thou hast asked me a very hard ques- 
tion, my name being given me before I was ca- 
pable of remembering who gave it me. But I 
believe it was my parents, they being the only 
persons who had a right to give me my name. — 
That name they always called me by, and to that 
name I always answered; and I believe none need 
to call it in question now. 

Bishop. No, no ; but how many children have 
you? 

J. R. It hath pleased God to give me six chil- 
dren ; three of whom he was pleased to take from 
me; the other three are still living. 

Bishop. And how many of them have been 
bishoped ? 

J. R. None that I know of. 

Bishop. What reason can you give for that ? 

J. R. A very good one, I think : most of my 
children were born in Oliver's days, when bish- 
ops were out of fashion. [At this the court fell 
a laughing.] 

Bishop. How many of them have been bap- 
tized? 

J. R. What dost thou mean by that? 

Bishop. What ! don't you own baptism ? 

J. R. Yes ; but perhaps we may differ in that 
point. 

Bishop. What baptism do you own? That 
of the Spirit, I suppose. 

3 



26 MEMOIRS OF 

J. R. Yes. What other baptism should I 



,? 



own i 

Bishop. Do you own but one baptism? 

J. R. If one be enough, what needs any- 
more? The apostle said, One Lord, one faith, 
one baptism. 

Bishop. What say you of the baptism of wa- 
ter. 

J. R. I say, there was a man sent from God, 
whose name was John, who had a real commis- 
sion for it; and he was the only man that I read 
of who was empowered for that work. 

Bishop. But what if I make it appear to you, 
that some of Christ's disciples themselves bap- 
tized with water, after Christ's ascension. 

J. R. I suppose that's no very difficult task ; 
but what's that to me? 

Bishop. Is it nothing to you, what Christ's 
disciples themselves did ? 

J. R. Not in every thing; for Paul, that emi- 
nent apostle, who, I suppose, thou wilt grant had 
as extensive a commission as any of the rest of 
the apostles; nay, he says himself, he was not a 
whit behind the chiefest of them, and yet he hon- 
estly confesses he had no commission to baptize 
with water; and further says, "I thank God I 
baptized none but such and such; for," says he, 
44 1 was not sent to baptize, (i. e. with water) but 
to preach the gospel." And if he was not sent, 
I would soberly ask, who required it at his hands? 
Perhaps lie might have as little thanks for his la- 
bor as thou mayst have for thine ; and I would 
willingly know, iv ho sent thee to baptize. 

Bishop. This is not our present business. — 



JOHN ROBERTS. 27 

You are here returned for not coming to church. 
What say you to that? 

J. R. I desire to see my accusers. 

Bishop. It is the minister and church-wardens. 
Do you deny it? 

J. R. Yes, I do ; for it is always my principle 
and practice to go to church. 

Bishop. And do you go to church? 

J. R. Yes ; and sometimes the church comes 
to me. 

Bishop. The church comes to you ! I don't 
understand you, friend. 

J. R. It may be so ; 'tis often for want of a 
good understanding that the innocent are made to 
suffer. 

Apparitor. My Lord, he keeps meetings at 
his house, and he calls that a church. 

J. R. No; I no more believe my house to be 
a church, than I believe what you call so to be 
one. I call the people of God the church of God, 
wheresoever they are met to worship him in spi- 
rit and in truth. And when I say the church 
comes to me, I mean the assembly of such wor- 
shippers, who frequently meet at my house. I 
do not call that a church which you do, which 
is made of wood and stone; that is but the work- 
manship of men's hands : whereas the true church 
consists of living stones, and is built up by Christ, 
a spiritual house to God. 

Bishop. We call it a church figuratively, 
meaning the place where the church meets. 

J. R. I fear you call it a church hypocritical- 
ly and deceitfully, with design to awe the people 
into a veneration for the place, which is not due 



28 MEMOIRS OF 

to it, as though your consecrations had made that 
house holier than others. 

Bishop. What do you call that which we call 
a church ? 

J. R. It may properly enough be called a 
mass-house, it being formerly built for that pur- 
pose. 

Apparitor. Mr. Haywood, it is expected you 
should show more respect than you do in this 
place, in keeping on your hat. 

J. R. Who expects it? 

Appa. My Lord Bishop. 

J. R. I expect better things from him. 

Bishop. No, no, keep on your hat ; I don't 
expect it from you. A little after, the bishop 
said, Well, friend, this is not a convenient time 
for you and I to dispute ; but I may take you to 
my chamber, and convince you of your errors. 

J. R. I shall take it kindly of thee, or any 
man else, to convince me of my errors that I hold, 
and would hold them no longer. 

Bishop. Call some others. Then my father's 
man was called ; who not appearing, the appari- 
tor said, Mr. Haywood, is John Overall here? 

J. R. I believe not. 

Bishop. What is the reason he is not here ? 

J. R. I think there are very good reasons for 
his absence. 

Bishop. What are they? Mayn't I know? 

J. R. In the first place, he is an old man, and 
not of ability to undertake such a journey, except 
it was upon a very good account. In the second 
place, he is my servant; and I can't spare him 
out of my business in my absence. 



JOHN ROBERTS. 29 

Bishop. Why does he not go to church then? 

J. R. He does go to church with me. [At 
this the court fell a laughing.] 

Bishop. Call somebody else. Then a Baptist 
preacher was called ; who, seeing the bishop's 
civility to my father, in suffering him to keep on 
his hat, thought to take the same liberty. At 
whom the bishop put on a stern countenance, and 
said, "Don't you know this is the king's court, 
and that I sit here to represent his majesty's per- 
son ? and do you come here in an uncivil and ir- 
reverent manner, in contempt of his majesty and 
this court, with your hat on ? I confess there are 
some men in this world who make a conscience 
of putting off their hats, to whom we ought to 
have some regard; — but for you, who can put it 
off to every mechanic you meet, to come here, in 
contempt of authority, with it on, I'll assure you, 
friend, you shall speed never the better for it." 
I heard my father say, "These words came so 
honestly from the bishop, that it did him good to 
hear him." The Baptist then taking off his hat, 
said, " An't please you, my Lord, I han't been 
well in my head." 

Bishop. Why you have got a cap on ; nay, 
you have two caps on. [He had a black one 
over a white one.] What is your reason for de- 
nying your children the holy ordinance of bap- 
tism ? 

Baptist. An't please you, my Lord, I am not 
well satisfied about it. 

Bishop. What's the ground of your dissatis- 
faction ? Did you ever see a book I published, 
entitled, The Order of Baptism? 

3* 



30 MEMOIRS OF 

Baptist. No, my Lord. 

Bishop. I thought so. Then telling hiin how 
and where he might get it, he gave him a space 
of time to peruse it in; and told him, "If that 
would not satisfy him, to come to him, and he 
would give him full satisfaction." 

Some time after, the bishop sent his bailiff to 
take my father ; but he was then gone to Bristol 
with George Fox. The officers came several 
times and searched the house for him, pretending 
they only wanted him for a small trespass, which 
would soon be made up, if they could see him. 
My mother answered, "She did not believe any 
neighbor he had would trouble him upon such an 
account ; for if by chance any of his cattle tres- 
passed upon any, he would readily make him sat- 
isfaction, without further trouble." Which they 
very well knew. However she always treated 
them civilly, and frequently set meat and drink 
before them. My father staying away longer 
than was expected, they imagined he absconded 
for fear of them ; and therefore offered my mo- 
ther, if she would give them twenty shillings, to 
let him come home for a month ; but she told 
them, she knew of no wrong he had done to any 
man, and therefore would give them no money ; 
for that would imply a consciousness of guilt. — 
But, said she, if my enemy hunger, I can feed 
him ; and if he thirst, I can give him drink. — 
Upon this they flew into a rage, and said they 
would have him if he was above ground ; for 
none could pardon him but the king. My father 
returning homewards through Tedbury, was there 
informed that the bailiffs had been about his house 



JOHN ROBERTS. 31 

almost ever since he went from home. He there- 
fore contrived to come home after day -light.— 
When he came into his own grounds, the moon 
shining bright, he spied the shadow of a man, and 
asked, Who's there? It's 1, said the man. 

J.Roberts. Who? Sam. Stubbs? 

Sam. Stubbs. Yes, master. 

J. Roberts. Hast thou any thing against me ? 
[He was a bailiff.] 

S. Stubbs. No, master. I might ; but I -vould 
not meddle. I have wronged you enough al- 
ready, God forgive me. But those who now lie 
in wait for you are the Paytons, my lord bishop's 
bailiffs. I would not have you fall into their 
hands, for they are merciless rogues. I would 
have you, master, take rny counsel : " Ever while 
you live please a knave ; for an honest man won't 
hurt you." My father came home, and desired 
us not to let the bailiffs in upon him that night, 
that he might have an opportunity of taking cofln- 
sel on his pillow. In the morning he told my 
mother what he had seen that night in a vision. 
I thought, said he, I was walking in a fine, plea- 
sant, green way ; but it was narrow, and had a 
wall on each side of it. In my way lay some- 
thing like a bear, but more dreadful. The sight 
of it put me to a stand. A man, seeing me sur- 
prised, came to me with a smiling countenance, 
and said, " Why art afraid, friend ? It is chain- 
ed, and can't hurt thee." I thought I made an- 
swer, " The way is so narrow, I can't pass by 
but it may reach me." " Don't be afraid," said 
the man, " it can't hurt thee." I saw he spake 
in great good will, and thought his face shone 



32 MEMOIRS OF 

like the face of an angel. Upon which I took 
courage, and stepping forward, laid my hand upon 
his head. The construction he made of this to 
my mother was: " Truth is a narrow way ; and 
this bishop lies in my way : I must go to him, 
whatever I suffer." So he arose, set forward, 
and called upon Amariah Drewett, a Friend of 
Cirencester, to accompany him. When they 
came to the bishop's house, (at Cleave, near 
Gloucester,) they found a butcher's wife of Cir- 
encester, who was come to intercede for her hus- 
band, who was put into the bishop's court for 
killing meat on first-days. Two young sparks 
of the bishops attendants were asking her if she 
knew John Haywood. She answered, " Yes, 
very well." " What is he for a man?" said they. 
" A very good man," said she, setting aside his 
religion: "but I have nothing to say to that." 
One of them said he would give five shillings to 
see him; the other offered eight. Upon which 
my father stept up to them ; but they said not one 
word to him. One of them presently informed 
the bishop he was come. Whereupon the bish- 
op dismissed his company, and had him up stairs. 
My father found him seated in his chair, with 
his hat under his arm, assuming a majestic air. 
My father stood silent awhile ; and seeing the 
bishop did not begin with him, he approached 
nearer, and thus accosted him : Old man, my busi- 
ness is with thee. 

Bishop. What is your business with me? 

J. Roberts. I have heard thou hast sent out 
thy bailiffs to take me : but I rather choose to 
come myself to know what wrong I have done 



JOHN ROBERTS. 33 

thee. If it appear I have done thee any, I am 
ready to make thee satisfaction ; but if, upon in- 
quiry, I appear to be innocent, I desire thee, for 
thy own soul's sake, not to injure me. 

Bishop. You are misinformed, friend ; I am 
not your adversary. 

J.* R. Then I desire thee to tell me who is 
my adversary, that I may go and agree with him 
while I am in the way. 

Bishop, The king is your adversary. The 
king's laws you have broken ; and to the king 
you shall answer. 

J. R. Our subjection to the laws is either ac- 
tive or passive. So that if a man can't for con- 
science sake, do the thing the law requires, but 
passively suffers what the law inflicts, the law, 
I conceive, is as fully answered as if he had ac- 
tually obeyed. 

Bishop. You are wrong in that too ; for sup- 
pose a man steal an ox, and he be taken and 
hanged for the fact, what restitution is that to the 
owner ? 

J. R. None at all. But though it is no resti- 
tution to the owner, yet the law is fully satisfied. 
Though the owner be a loser, the criminal has 
suffered the punishment the law inflicts, as an 
equivalent for the crime committed. But thou 
mayst see the corruptness of such laws, which 
put the life of a man upon a level with the life of 
a beast. 

Bishop. What! do such men as you find fault 
with the laws ? 

J. R. Yes ; and I'll tell thee plainly, 'tis high 
time wiser men were chosen, to make better laws. 



34 MEMOIRS OF 

For if this thief was taken and sold for a proper 
term, according to the law of Moses, and the 
owner had four oxen for his ox, and four sheep 
for his sheep, he would be well satisfied, and the 
man's life preserved, that he might repent, and 
amend his ways. But I hope thou dost not ac- 
cuse me of having stolen any man's ox or ass ! 

Bishop. No, no; God forbid! 

J. R. Then, if thou pleasest to give me leave, 
I'll state a case more parallel to the matter in 
hand. 

Bishop. You may. 

J. R. There lived in days past Nebuchadnez- 
zar, king of Babylon, who set up an image, and 
made a decree, that all who would not bow down 
to it, should be cast the same hour into a burning 
fiery furnace. There were then three young men, 
who served the same God that I do now, and 
these durst not bow down to it; but passively 
submitted their bodies to the flames. Was not 
that a sufficient satisfaction to the unjust decree 
of the king ? 

Bishop. Yes; God forbid else ! For that was 
to worship the workmanship of men's hands; 
which is idolatry. 

J. R. Is that thy judgment, that to worship 
the workmanship of men's hands is idolatry? 

Bishop. Yes, certainly. 

J. R. Then give me leave to ask thee, by 
whose hands the Common Prayer Book was 
made ? I am sure it was made by somebody's 
hands, for it could not make itself. 

Bishop. Do you compare our Common Pray- 
er Book to Nebuchadnezzar's image? 



JOHN ROBERTS. 35 

J. R. Yes, I do : that was his image, and this 
is thine. And be it known unto thee, — I speak it 
in the dread of the God of heaven, — I no more 
dare bow to thy Common Prayer Book than the 
three children to Nebuchadnezzar's image. 

Bishop. Your's is a strange upstart religion 
of a very few years standing ; and you are grown 
so confident in it, that there is no beating you 
out of it. 

J. R. Out of my religion ? God forbid ! I 
was a long time seeking acquaintance with the 
living God amongst the dead forms of worship, 
and inquiring after the right way and worship of 
God, before I could find it; and now, I hope* 
neither thou nor any man living shall be able to 
persuade me out of it. But though thou art an 
ancient man, and a bishop, I find thou art very 
ignorant of the rise and antiquity of our religion? 

Bishop, [smiling.] Do you Quakers pretend 
antiquity for your religion ? 

J. R. Yes ; and I don't question but, with 
the help of God, I can make it appear, that our 
religion was many hundred years before thine 
was thought of. 

Bishop. You see I have given you liberty of 
discourse, and have not sought to ensnare you 
in your words ; but if you can make the Quaker's 
religion appear to be many hundred years older 
than mine, you'll speed the better. 

J. R. If I do not, I seek no favor at thy hands; 
and in order to it, I hope thou wilt give me lib- 
erty to ask a few sober Questions. 

Bishop. You may* 

J. R. Then first I would ask thee, Where 



36 MEMOIRS OF 

was thy religion in Oliver's days ? The Common 
Prayer Book was then become (even among the 
clergy) like an old almanac, very few regarding 
it in our country. There were two or three 
priests indeed who stood honestly to their prin- 
ciple, and suffered pretty much ; but the far great- 
er number turned with the tide, and we have rea- 
son to believe, that if Oliver would have put mass 
into their mouths, they would have conformed 
even to that for their bellies. 

Bishop. What would you have us do? Would 
you have had Oliver cut our throats ? 

J. R. No, by no means. But what religion 
was that you were afraid to venture your throats 
for? Be it known to thee, I ventured my throat 
for my religion in Oliver's days, as I do now. 

Bishop. And I must tell you, though in Oli- 
ver's days I did not dare own it as I now do, yet 
I never owned any other religion. 

J. R. Then I suppose thou madst a conscience 
of it ; and I should abundantly rather choose to 
fall in such a man's hands, than into the hands 
of one who makes no conscience towards God, 
but will conform to any thing for his belly. But 
if thou didst not think thy religion worth ven- 
turing thy throat for in Oliver's days, I desire 
thee to consider, it is not worth cutting other 
men's throats now for not conforming to it. 

Bishop. You say right : I hope we shall have 
a care how we cut men's throats. [Several others 
were now come into the room.] But you know 
the Common Prayer Book was before Oliver's 
days. 

J. R. Yes : I have a great deal of reason to 



JOHN ROBERTS. 37 

know that; for I was bred up under a common 
prayer priest, and a poor drunken old man he was. 
Sometimes he was so drunk he could not ^ay his 
prayers, and at best he could but say them ; though 
I think he was by far a better man than he that is 
priest there now. 

Bishop. Who is your minister now ? 

J. R. My minister is Christ Jesus, the minis- 
ter of the everlasting covenant; but the present 
priest of the parish is George Bull. 

Bishop. Do you say that drunken old man was 
better than Mr. Bull ? I tell you, I account Mr. 
Bull as sound, able, and orthodox a divine as any 
we have among us. 

J. R. I am sorry for that; for if he be one of 
the best of you, I believe the Lord will not suffer 
you long ; for he is a proud, ambitious, ungodly 
man ; he hath often sued me at law, and brought 
his servants to swear against me wrongfully. His 
servants themselves have confessed to my servants, 
that I might have their ears ; for their master made 
them drunk, and then told them they were set 
down in the list as witnesses against me, and they 
must swear to it; and so they did, and brought 
treble damages. They likewise owned they took 
tithes from my servants, thrashed them out, and 
sold them for their master. They have also sev- 
eral times took my cattle out of my grounds, 
drove them to fairs and markets, and sold them, 
without giving me any account. 

Bishop. I do assure you I will inform Mr. 
Bull of what you say. 

J. R. Very well. And if thou pleasest to send 
for me to face him, I shall make much more appear 
to his face than I'll say behind his back. 
4 



38 MEMOIRS OF 



Bishop. But I remember you said you would 
make it appear, that your religion was long before 
mine, and that is what I want to hear you make 
out. 

J. R. Our religion, as thou mayst read in the 
scripture, (John iv.) was set up by Christ himself, 
between sixteen and seventeen hundred years ago; 
and he had full power to establish the true religion 
in his church, when he told the woman of Sama- 
ria, that neither at that mountain, nor yet at Jeru- 
salem, was the place of true warship; they wor- 
shiped they knew not what, For, said he, God 
is a Spirit, and they that worship him, must wor- 
ship him in spirit and in truth. This is our re- 
ligion, and hath ever been the religion of all those 
who have worshiped God acceptably through the 
several ages since, down to this time ; and will be 
the religion of the true spiritual worshipers of God' 
to the world's end ; a religion performed by the 
assistance of the Spirit of God, because God is '< 
Spirit; a religion established by Christ himself 
before the mass book, service book, or directory 
or any of those inventions or traditions of men 
which in the night of apostasy were set up. 

Bish. Are all the Quakers of the same opinion' 

J. R. Yes, they are. If any hold doctrine 
contrary to that taught by our Saviour to the wo 
man of Samaria, they are not of us. 

Bishop. Do you own the Trinity? 

J. R. I don't remember such a word in th 
holy scriptures. 

Bishop. Do you own three persons? 

J. R. I believe, according to the scripture, tha 
there are three that bear record in heaven, an 
that these three are one ; thou mayst make as man 






JOHN ROBERTS. 39 

persons of them as thou canst. But I would so- 
berly ask thee, since the scriptures say, the hea- 
vens cannot contain him, and that he is incompre- 
hensible, by what person or likeness canst thou 
comprehend the Almighty ? 

Bishop. Your's is the strangest of all persua- 
sions; for though there are many sects [which he 
named] and though they and we differ in some 
circumstances, yet in fundamentals we agree as 
one. But I observe you, of all others, strike at 
the very root and basis of our religion. 

J. R. Art thou sensible of that ? 

Bishop. Yes, I am. 

J. R. I am glad of that; for the root is rotten- 
ness, and truth strikes at the very foundation 
thereof. That little stone which Daniel saw cut 
out of the mountain without hands, will overturn 
sill in God's due time, when you have done all 
you can to support it. But as to those others thou 
mentionest, there is so little difference between 
you, that wise men wonder why you differ at all ; 
only we read, " the beast had many heads, and 
many horns, which push against each other."— . 
And yet I am fully persuaded there are in this day 
many true spiritual worshipers in all persuasions. 

Bishop. But you will not give us the same 
liberty you give a common mechanic, to call our 
tools by the same names. 

J. R. 1 desire thee to explain thyself. 

Bishop. Why, you will give a carpenter leave 
to call his gimlet a gimlet, and his gouge a gouge; 
but you call our church a mass house. 

J. R. I wish you were half so honest men as 
carpenters. 

Bishop. Why do you upbraid us ? 



40 MEMOIRS OF 

J. R. I would not upbraid you ; but I'll en- 
deavor to show you wherein you fall short of car- 
penters. Suppose I have a son intended to learn 
the trade of a carpenter ; I indent with an honest 
man of that calling, in consideration of so much 
money, to teach my son his trade in such a term 
of years ; at the end of which term my son may 
be as good, or perhaps a better workman than his 
master, and he shall be at liberty from him to fol- 
low the business for himself. Now, will you be 
so honest as this carpenter? You are men who 
pretend to know more of light, life, and salvation, 
and things pertaining to the kingdom of heaven, 
than we do. I would ask in how long a time 
you would undertake to teach us as much as you 
know; and what shall we give you, that we may 
be once free from our masters ? But here you 
keep us always learning, that we may be always 
paying you. Plainly, 'tis a very cheat. What ! 
always learning, and never able to come to the 
knowledge of God ! Miserable sinners you found 
us, and miserable sinners you leave us ! 

Bishop. Are you against confession ? 

J. R. No : for I believe those who confess and 
forsake their sins, shall find mercy at the hand of 
God ; but those who persist in them shall be pun- 
ished. But if ever you intend to be better, you 
must throw away your old book, and get a new 
one, or turn over a new leaf; for if you keep on 
in your old lesson, you must be always doing 
what you ought not, and leaving undone what you 
ought to do, and you can never do worse. I be- 
lieve in my heart you mock God. 

Bishop. How dare you say so? 

J. R. I'll state the case, and thou shalt judge. 



JOHN ROBERTS. 41 

Suppose thou hadst a son, and thou shouldst daily 
let him know what thou wouldst have him do, and 
he should, day by day, week by week, and year 
after year, provoke thee to thy face, and say, Fa- 
ther, I have not done what thou commandedst me 
to do; but have done quite the contrary; and con- 
tinue to provoke thee to thy face in this manner 
once or oftener every week; wouldst thou not 
think him a rebellious child, and that his applica- 
tion to thee was mere mockery, and would it not 
occasion thee to disinherit him? After some more 
discourse, my father told him, time was far spent; 
and, said he, if nothing will serve thee but my 
body in a prison, here it is in thy power; and if 
thou commandest me to deliver myself up, either 
to the sheriff, or to the jailer of Gloucester castle, 
as thy prisoner, I will go, and seek no other judge, 
advocate, or attorney to plead my cause, but the 
great Judge of heaven and earth, who knows I 
have nothing but love and good will in my heart 
to thee and all mankind. 

Bishop. No; you shall go home about your 
business. 

J. R. Then I desire thee, for the future, not 
to trouble thyself to send any more bailiffs after 
me ; for if thou pleasest at any time to let me 
know, by a line or two, that thou wouldst speak 
with me, though it be to send me to prison, if I 
am well and able, I'll come. 

The bishop then called for something to drink; 
but my father acknowledged his kindness, and 
excused himself from drinking. And the bishop 
being called out of the room, one Cuthbert, who 
took offence at my father's freedom with the bish- 
op, said, " Haywood, you're afraid of nothing; I 
4* 



42 MEMOIRS OF 

never met with such a man in my life. I'm afraid 
of my life, lest such fanatics as you should cut my 
throat as I sleep." 

J. R. I don't wonder that thou art afraid. 

Cuthbert. Why should I be afraid any more 
than you ? 

J. R. Because I am under the protection of him 
who numbereth the very hairs of my head, and 
without whose providence a sparrow shall not fall 
to the ground; but thou hast Cain's mark of envy 
on thy forehead, and, like him, art afraid that who- 
ever meets thee should kill thee. 

Cuthbert, (in a great rage.) If all the Quakers 
in England are not hanged in a month's time, I'll 
be hanged for them. 

J. R. (smiling.) Prithee, friend, remember and 
be as good as thy word. 

My father and his friend Amariah Drewett then 
took their leave, and returned home with the an- 
swer of peace in their bosoms. 

Some time after this, the bishop and the chan- 
cellor, in their coaches, accompanied with Thomas 
Masters, Esq. in his coach, and about twenty cler- 
gymen on horseback, made my father's house in 
their way to the visitation, which was to be at 
Tedbury the next day. They stopt at the gate, 
and George Evans, the bishop's kinsman, rode in- 
to the yard, to call my father; who coming to the 
bishop's coach side, he put out his hand, (which 
my father respectfully took) saying, "I could not 
well go out of the county without seeing you." — 
That's very kind, said my father; w T ilt thou please 
to alight and come in, with those who are along 
with thee ? 

Bishop. I thank you, John ; we are going to 



JOHN ROBERTS. 43 

Tedbury, and time will not admit of it now ; but 
I will drink with you if you please. 

My father went in, and ordered some drink to 
be brought, and then returned to the coach side. 

Geo. Evans. John, is your house free to en- 
tertain such men as we are ? 

J. R. Yes, George; I entertain honest men, 
and sometimes others. 

G. Evans, (to the bishop.) My lord, John's 
friends are the honest men, and we are the others, 

J. R. That's not fair, George, for thee to put 
thy construction upon my words ; thou shouldst 
have given me leave to do that. 

'Squire Masters came out of his coach, and stood 
by the bishop's coach side; and the chancellor, in 
a diverting humor, said to my father, "My lord 
and these gentlemen have been to see your bury- 
ing ground, and we think you keep it very de- 
cent." [This piece of ground my father had given 
to Friends for that purpose ; it lay at the lower 
end of his orchard.] My father answered, " Yes, 
though we are against pride, we think it commend- 
able to be decent." 

Chancellor. But there is one thing among you 
which I did not expect to see ; I think it looks a 
little superstitious ; I mean those grave stones 
which are placed at the head and feet of your 
graves. 

J. R. That I confess is what I cannot much 
plead for; but it was permitted to gratify some 
who had their relations there interred. We, not- 
withstanding, propose to have them taken up ere 
long, and converted to some better use. But I 
desire thee to take notice, we had it from among 
you ; and I have observed in many things where- 



44 MEMOIRS OF 

in we have taken you for a pattern, you have led 
us wrong; and therefore we are now resolved,, 
with the help of God, not to follow you one step 
further. 

At this the bishop smiled, and said, "John, I 
think your beer is long a coming." 

J. R. I suppose my wife is willing thou shouldst 
have the best, and therefore stays to broach a fresh 
vessel. 

Bishop. Nay, if it be for the best, we'll stay. 

Presently my mother brought the drink ; and 
when the bishop had drank, he said, "I commend 
you, John, you keep a cup of good beer in your 
house. I have not drank any that has pleased me 
better since I came from home." The chancellor 
drank next; and the cup coming round again to 
my father's hand, 'Squire Masters said to him, 
" Now, old school-fellow, I hope you'll drink to 
me." 

J. R. Thou knowest it is not my practice to 
drink to any man ; if it was, I would as soon drink 
to thee as another, being my old acquaintance and 
school-fellow; but if thou art pleased to drink, thou 
art very welcome. 

The 'Squire then taking the cup into his hand, 
said, " Now, John, before my lord and all those 
gentlemen, tell me what ceremony or compliment 
do you Quakers use when you drink to one an- 
other?" 

J. R. None at all. For me to drink to another 
and drink the liquor, is at best but a compliment, 
and that borders much on a lie. 

'Squire Masters. What do you do then ? 

J. R. Why if I have a mind to drink, I take 



JOHN ROBERTS. 45 

the cup and drink ; and if my friend pleases, he 
does the same ; if not, he may let it alone. 

'Squire Masters. Honest John, give me thy 
hand, here's to thee with all my heart; and, ac- 
cording to thy own compliment, if thou wilt drink, 
thou mayst; if not, thou mayst let it alone. 

My father then ofFering the cup to Priest Bull, 
he refused it, saying "it is full of hops and here- 
sy." To which my father replied, "As for hops 
I cannot say much, not being at the brewing of it; 
but as for heresy, I do assure thee, neighbor Bull, 
there is none in my beer; and if thou pleasest to 
drink, thou art welcome; but if not, I desire thee 
to take notice, as good as thou will, and those who 
are as well able to judge of heresy. Here thy lord 
bishop hath drank of it, and commends it; he finds 
no heresy in the cup." 

Bishop, (leaning over the coach door, and whis- 
pering to my father, said,) John, I advise you to 
take care you don't offend against the higher pow- 
ers. I have heard great complaints against you, 
that you are the ringleader of the Quakers in this 
country; and that if you are not suppressed, all 
will signify nothing. Therefore, pray, John, take 
care for the future, you don't offend any more. 

J. R. I like thy counsel very well, and intend 
to take it. But thou knowest God is the higher 
power; and you moral men, however advanced 
in this world, are but the lower power; and it is 
only because I endeavor to be obedient to the will 
of the higher powers, that the lower powers are 
angry with me. But I hope, with the assistance 
of God, to take thy counsel, and be subject to the 
higher powers, let the lower powers do with me 
as it may please God to suffer them. 



46 MEMOIRS OF 

Bishop. I want some more discourse with you. 
Will you go with me to Mr. Bull's? 

J. R. Thou knowest he hath no good will for 
me. I had rather attend on thee elsewhere. 

Bishop, Will you come to-morrow to Tedbury? 

J. R. Yes, if thou desirest it. 

Bishop. Well, I do. The bishop then took his 
leave, and went not to George Bull's, at which he 
was very much offended. 

Next morning my father took his son Nathan- 
iel with him, in case the bishop (in compliance 
with the violent clamors of the priests) should send 
him to prison, which he expected. As they were 
passing along a street in Tedbury, they were met 
by Anthony Sharp, of Ireland, whose mother lived 
at Tedbury. After he understood by my father 
where he was going, he asked him if he would 
accept of a companion? " If thou hast a mind to 
go to prison," says my father, "thou mayst go 
with me." "I'll venture that," replied Anthony, 
" for if I do, I shall have good company." When 
they came to the foot of the stairs which led up to 
the bishop's chamber, they were espied by George 
Evans, who said, " Come up, John, my lord 
thought you long." When they came up, the 
bishop was just sitting down to dinner, with a 
number of clergymen, and offering to make room 
for my father, he excused himself, and retired with 
his friend till dinner was over. The bishop spoke 
to the woman of the house for another room, which 
(it being market day) was soon filled with priests 
and clothiers. 

Bishop, (putting on a stern countenance,) said, 
Come, John, I must turn over a new leaf with 
you. If you will not promise me to go to church, 





JOHN ROBERTS. 47 

and to keep no more of these seditious conventi- 
cles at your house, I must make your mittimus? 
and send you to prison. 

J. R. Would thou have me shut my doors 
against my friends? It was but yesterday that 
thou thyself, and many others here present, were 
at my house; and I was so far from shutting my 
doors against you, that I invited you in, and you 
should have been welcome to the best entertain- 
ment I had. 

Bishop. It is those meetings I speak of which 
you keep at your house, to the terror of the coun- 
try. 

J. R. This I'll promise thee, before all this 
company, that if any plotters or ill-minded per- 
sons come to my house, to plot or conspire against 
the king or government, if I know it, I'll be the 
first informer against therri myself, though I have 
not a penny for my labor. But if honest and so- 
ber people come to my house, to wait upon and 
worship the God of heaven, in spirit and in truth, 
such shall be welcome to me as long as I have a 
house for them to meet in; and if I should have 
none, the Lord will provide one for them. 

Bishop. Will you promise to go to your own 
parish church, to hear divine service ? 

J. R. I can promise no such thing. The last 
time I was there, I was moved and -required of the 
Lord, whom I serve, to bear my testimony against 
a hireling priest, who was preaching for hire, and 
divining for money ; and he was angry with me, 
and caused the people to turn me out. l4nd I don't 
intend to trouble him again till he learn more 
civility, except the Lord require it of me. 

Bishop. Send for the constable ; I must take 
another course. 



48 MEMOIRS OF 

J. R. If thou shouldst come to my house under 
a pretense of friendship, and, in a Judas-like man- 
ner, betray me hither to send me to prison ; as I 
have hitherto commended thee for thy moderation, 
I should then have occasion to put thy name in 
print, and cause it to stink before all sober people. 
But it is those priests who set thee on mischief. I 
would not have thee hearken to them; but bid 
them take up some honest vocation, and rob their 
horest neighbors no longer. They are like a com- 
pany of caterpillars, who destroy the fruits of the 
earth, and live on the fruits of other men's labors. 

The priest Rich, of North Surry, said, Who are 
those you call caterpillars ? 

J. R. We husbandmen call them caterpillars 
who live on the fruits of other men's fields, and 
on the sweat of other men's brows. And if thou 
dost so, thou mayst be one of them. 

Rich. May it please your lordship, if you suf- 
fer such a man as this to thou your lordship, and 
call you old man, what will become of us ? 

J. R. We honor old age, if it be found in the 
way of well doing; but one would not think you 
would be such dunces as to forget grammar rules. 
You bred up at Oxford and Cambridge ; for what! 
I, that am a layman, and bred up at plough-tail, 
understand the singular and plural numbers. — 
Thee and thou is proper to a single person, if it 
be to a prince ; thou knowest it old man. What ! 
have you forgot your prayers ? Is it you, O Lord, 
or thou, O Lord, in your prayers? Will you not 
accept the same language from your fellow- mortals 
which you give to the Almighty ? What spirit 
was that in proud Haman, that would have poor 
Mordecai to bow to him ? 



JOHN ROBERTS. 49 

Bishop. This won't do. Make their mittimuses. 
What's your name ? 

Anthony Sharp. My name is Anthony Sharp. 

Bishop. Where do you live? 

A. S. At Dublin; in the kingdom of Ireland. 

Bishop. What's your business here ? 

A. S. My mother lives in this town. And as 
she is such, and an ancient woman, I thought it 
my duty to come and see her. 

J. R. He only came hither in good will to bear 
me company. If thou please, lay the more on me, 
and let him go free. 

Bishop. No ; he may be as dangerous a per- 
son as yourself; and as you came for company, 
you shall go for company. Send for the consta- 
ble to take them into custody. 

The woman of the house, understanding the 
constable was to be sent for, dispatches a messen- 
ger to him, to bid him get out of the way; but 
the messenger missing him, he came to the house 
by accident; to whom the landlady said, " What 
do you here, when honest John Haywood is go- 
ing to be sent to prison ? Here, come along with 
me." The constable being willing, she conceal- 
ed him in another room ; and the bishop's mes- 
senger bringing him word that the constable was 
not to be found, he said to my father, 

Bishop. Here are many gentlemen who have 
a great way home, and I can send you to prison 
in the afternoon ; so you may take your liberty 
till six o'clock. 

My father perceived his intent was to get rid of 
his company. So he withdrew, with his friend 
Anthony Sharp ; and at six o'clock returned with- 
out him, and found only two persons with him, 
5 



50 MEMOIRS OF 

i. e. Edward Barnet, a surgeon of Cockerton, and 
parson Hall. 

Bishop. So, John, you are come. 'Tis well; 
I want some more discourse with you. 

Parson Hall. An't please you my lord, let me 
discourse him. 

Bishop. Ay, do Mr. Hall ; John will give you 
an answer. 

P. H. 'Tis a great pity such men as you should 
have the light, sight, and knowledge of the scrip- 
tures ; for the knowledge of the scriptures hath 
made you mad. 

J, R. Why should not I have the privilege of 
buying the scriptures for my money, as well as 
thou or any other man ? But you priests, like the 
Papists, would have us laymen kept in ignorance, 
that we might pin our faith on your sleeves ; and 
so the blind lead the blind till both fall into the 
ditch. But if the knowledge of the scriptures hath 
made me mad, the knowledge of the sack-pot hath 
almost made thee mad ; and if we two madmen 
should dispute about religion, we should make 
mad work of it. But as thou art an unworthy 
man, I'll not dispute with thee. 

P. H. An't please you, my lord, he says I am 
drunk. 

J. R. Wilt thou speak an untruth before thy 
lord bishop ? 

P. H. He did say I was drunk, my lord. 

Bish. What did you say, John? I'll believe you. 

My father repeating what he said before, the 
bishop held up his hands, and, (smiling,) said, 
"Did you say so, John?" By which Hall per- 
ceiving the bishop did not incline to favor him r 
went away in a huff. The bishop then directing 



JOHN ROBERTS. 51 

his discourse to my father, said, " John, I thought 
you dealt hardly with me to-day, in telling me, 
before so many gentlemen, that I came to your 
house in a Judas-like manner, and betrayed you 
hither to send you to prison ; for if I had not done 
what I did, people would have reported me an 
encourager of the Quakers." 

J. R. If they had, it would have been no dis- 
credit to thee. 

Bishop. Come now, John, I'll burn your mit- 
timuses before your face. And now, Mr. Barnet, 
I have a mind to ask John some questions. John, 
I have heard Mr. Bull say strange things of you ; 
that you can tell where to find any thing that is 
lost as well as any cunning man. But I desire 
to hear it from your own mouth. It was about 
some cows that a neighbor had lost, and could no 
where find them till he applied to you. 

J. R. If thou pleasest to hear me, I'll tell thee 
the truth of that story. 

Bishop. Pray do ; I shall believe you, John. 

J. R. I had a poor neighbor, who had a wife 
and six children, and whom the chief men about 
us permitted to keep six or seven cows upon the 
waste, which were the principal support of the 
family, and preserved them from becoming charge- 
able to the parish. One very stormy night the 
cattle were left in the yard as usual, but could not 
be found in the morning. The man and his sons 
had sought them to no purpose ; and after they 
had been lost four days, his wife came to me, and, 
in a great deal of grief, cried, " O Lord ! master 
Haywood, we are undone ! My husband and I 
must go a begging in our old age ! We have lost 



52 MEMOIRS OF 

all our cows. My husband and the boys have been 
round the country, and can hear nothing of them. 
I'll down on my bare knees if you'll stand our 
friend !" I desired she should not be in such an 
agony, and told her she should not down on her 
knees to me ; but I would gladly help them in 
what I could. " I know," said she, " you are a 
good man, and God will hear your prayers." I 
desire thee, said I, to be still and quiet in thy 
mind ; perhaps thy husband or sons may hear of 
them to-day; if not, let thy husband get a horse, 
and come to me to-morrow morning as soon as he 
will ; and I think, if it please God, to go with him 
to seek them. The woman seemed transported 
with joy, crying, " Then we shall have our cows 
again." Her faith being so strong, brought the 
greater exercise on me, with strong cries to the 
Lord, that he would be pleased to make me in- 
strumental in his hand, for the help of the poor 
family. In the morning early comes the old man. 
" In the name of God," says he, " which way 
shall we go to seek them ?" I, being deeply con- 
cerned in my mind, did not answer him till he had 
thrice repeated it; and then I answered, " In the 
name of God I would go to seek them ;" and said, 
before I was well aware," we will go to Malmsbury, 
and at the horse fair we shall find them." When I 
had spoken the words,I was much troubled lest they 
should not prove true. It was very early, and the 
first man we saw, I asked him if he had seen any 
stray milch cows thereabouts ? "What manner of 
cattle are they ?" said he. And the old man describ- 
ing their marks and numbers, he told us there were 
some stood chewing their cuds in the horse fair ; 
but thinking they belonged to some in the neigh- 



JOHN ROBERTS. 53 

borhood, he did not take particular notice of them. 
When we came to the place, the old man found 
them to be his ; but suffered his transports of joy 
to rise so high, that I was ashamed of his beha- 
vior; for he fell a hallooing, and threw up his 
montier cap in the air several times, till he raised 
the neighbors out of their beds to see what was 
the matter. " O I" said he, " I had lost my cows 
four or five days ago, and thought I should never 
see them again ; and this honest neighbor of mine 
told me this morning, by his own fire-side, nine 
miles off, that here I should find them, and here 
I have them !" Then up goes his cap again. I 
begged of the poor man to be quiet, and take his 
cows home, and be thankful ; as indeed I was, be- 
ing reverently bowed in my spirit before the Lord, 
in that he was pleased to put the words of truth 
into my mouth. And the man drove his cattle 
home to the great joy of his family. 

Bishop. I remember another Mr. Bull told me, 
about a parcel of sheep a neighbor had lost, and 
you told him where to find them. 

J. R. The truth of the story is this : A neigh- 
bor of mine, one John Curtis, (at that time a do- 
mestic of George Bull's) kept some sheep of his 
own ; and it so fell out, that he lost them for some 
days ; but happening to see me, and knowing I 
went pretty much abroad, he desired me if I should 
see them any where in my travels, to let him know 
it. It happened the next day, as I was riding to- 
wards my own field, my dogs being with me, put 
up a hare, and seeing they were likely to kill her, 
I rode up to take them off, that she might escape ; 
and, by mere accident, I espied John Curtis's 
sheep in one corner of the field, in a thick briery 
5* 



54 MEMOIRS OF 

part of the hedge, wherein they stood as secure 
as if they had been in a pound. I suppose they 
had been driven hither by the hounds. When I 
came home I sent him word of it. And though 
this is no more than a common accident, I find 
George Bull hath endeavored to improve it to my 
disadvantage. 

Bishop. I remember one story more he told 
me about a horse. 

J. R. If I shan't tire thy patience, I'll acquaint 
thee how that was. One Edward Symmonds came 
from London, to see his parents at Siddington. — 
They put his horse to grass in some ground, with 
their own, beyond a part of mine, called the Fur- 
sen Leases, through which they went with the 
horse ; and when they wanted to take him from 
grass, they could not find him. After he had been 
lost some time, and they cried him at several mar- 
ket towns, somebody (who, 'tis likely, might have 
heard the former stories told, as thou mightesthear 
them) directed this Edward Symmonds to me ; 
who telling me the case, I asked him which way 
they had the horse to grass? He answered, thro' 
the Fursen Leases. I told him, the horse being a 
stranger in the place, 'twas very likely he might en- 
deavor to bend homewards, and lose himself in the 
Fursen Leases ; for there are a great many acres 
belonging to me and others, under that name, 
which are so overgrown with furze bushes, that a 
horse may lie there concealed a long time. I there- 
fore advised him to get a great deal of company, 
and search the places diligently, as if they were 
beating for a hare ; which if he did, I told him I 
was of the mind he would find him. The man 
did take my advice, and found him. And where 



JOHN ROBERTS. 55 

is the cunning of all this ? 'Tis no more than their 
own reason might have directed them to, had they 
properly considered the case. 

Bishop. I wanted to hear these stories from 
your own mouth ; though I did not, nor should 
have credited them, in the sense Mr. Bull related 
them; but I believe you, John. And now, Mr. 
Barnet, we'll ask John some serious questions. I 
can compare him to nothing but a good ring of 
bells. You know, Mr. Barnet, a ring of bells may 
be made of as good metal as can be put into bells ; 
but they may be out of tune. So we may say of 
John ; he is a man of as good metal as ever I met 
with ; but he's quite out of tune. 

J. R. Thou mayst well say so ; for I can't 
tune after thy pipe. 

Bishop. Well, John, I remember to have read, 
at the preaching of the apostle, the heart of Lydia 
was opened. Can you tell us what it was that 
opened Lydia's heart? 

J. R. I believe I can. 

Bishop. I thought so. I desire you to do it. 

J. R. It was nothing but the key of David. 

Bishop. Nay, now, John, I think you are go- 
ing wrong. 

J. R. If thou pleasest to speak, I'll hear thee ; 
but if thou wouldst have me speak, I desire thee 
to hear me. 

Bishop. Come, Mr. Barnet, we'll hear John. 

J. R. It is written, Thou hast the key of David, 
which opens, and none can shut;, and if thou 
shuttest, none can open. And that is no other but 
the Spirit of our Lord Jesus Christ. It was the 
same spiritual key that opened the heart of Moses, 
the first penman of the scripture, and gave him a 



56 MEMOIRS Otf 

sight of things from the beginning. It was the 
same spiritual key that opened the hearts of all 
the holy patriarchs, prophets, and apostles, in 
ages past, who left their experience of the things 
of God upon record ; which if they had not done, 
your bishops and priests would not have had any 
thing to make a trade of; for it is by telling the 
experiences of these holy men, that you get your 
great bishoprics and parsonages ; and the same 
spiritual key hath, blessed be God, opened the 
hearts of thousands in this age ; and the same spi- 
ritual key hath, in a measure, opened my heart, 
and given me to distinguish things that differ; 
and it must be the same that must open thy heart, 
if ever thou comest to have it truly opened. 

Bishop. It is the truth, the very truth. I never 
heard it so defined before. John, I have done you 
much wrong ; I desire you to forgive me, and I'll 
never wrong you more. 

J. R. I do heartily forgive thee, as far as it is 
in my power ; and I truly pray the Father of mer- 
cies may forgive thee, and make thee his. As to 
the latter part, that thou wilt never wrong me 
more, 1 am of the same mind with thee ; for it is 
in my heart to tell thee, I shall never see thy face 
any more. 

Bishop. I have heard you once told the jailer 
of Gloucester so, and it proved true. 

J. R. That jailer had been very cruel to me, 
and the rest of our friends, who were then prison- 
ers. He had kept us in the prison from the ses- 
sion to the assize, and from the assize to the ses- 
sions, omitting to put our names in the calendar, 
that we might not have a hearing. At length I 
found means, at an assize time, to acquaint the 
judge, by letter, of his illegal proceedings. In con- 



JOHN ROBERTS. 57 

sequence of which, we were ordered to be put in 
the calendar, had a hearing, and were acquitted. 
The judge severely reprimanded the jailer, saying, 
1 'Sirrah ! if ever I hear that you do the like for the 
future, I'll take care that you shall be jailer here 
no longer. Shall I come here to hear and deter- 
mine causes, and shall you keep men in prison 
during your pleasure, and not put their names in 
the calendar ?" The jailer coming out of the court, 
was heard by the turnkey to say, " 'Twas along 
of Hayward that I was so severely reprimanded 
by the judge ; and if ever he come into the castle 
again, he shall never come out alive." Upon 
which the turnkey took an opportunity to find me 
out ; and informing me of it, further said, " I would 
not have you by any means come back to the cas- 
tle to-night to fetch any of your things ; for if you 
do, he'll certainly detain you for his fees. I'll 
take equal care of your things as if you yourself 
were present to do it." I acknowledged his kind- 
ness, and went home. When the jailer returned 
to the castle, he asked the turnkey where the 
Quakers were? He answered, " he thought it his 
business to take care of the felons, and to leave 
Quakers to him." Not long after, being consta- 
ble, I secured a felon who broke out of the castle, 
and sent the turnkey notice of it. He coming 
over to fetch him back, begged, if by any means 
I could prevent it, that I would not come any more 
a prisoner to the castle while his master was jail- 
er ; " for," says he, " if you do, he swears you 
shall never go out alive ; and that hour you come 
in, I'll leave the castle, for I can't stay there to 
see you abused." " Does he still say so ?" said 
I. " Yes, he does," said he. " Then remem- 



58 . MEMOIRS OF 

ber me to him," said I, "and tell him from me, 
I shall never see his face any more." Soon after 
it pleased God to take him away by death ; and 
in a little time I was had prisoner there again. 

This was the last conference my father had with 
the bishop, who died soon after. 

Some time after, our friends, having been kept 
out of their meeting-house at Cirencester a con- 
siderable time, had continued to meet in the street. 
But orders being given one day to permit them 
to meet in the house, they did ; and while Theo- 
phila Townsend was in prayer, the bishop, (suc- 
cessor to bishop Nicholson,) Sir John Guise, 
William Burcher, of Barnsley, justice of peace, 
with a large company attending them, came in. — 
The bishop laid his hand on Theophila's head, 
saying, " Enough, good woman, enough ; desist, 
desist." When she had done, Richard Bowley, 
of Cirencester, went to prayer. And when he 
had done, Sir John Guise asked his name. 

R. Bowley. My name is Richard Bowley. 

Sir J. Guise. Where do you live ? 

R. B. In this town. 

Sir J. G. What trade are you? 

R. B. A malster. 

Sir J. G. Set down Richard Bowley 201. for 
preaching. Whose house is this? 

J. Roberts. This house hath many owners. 

Sir J. G. But who is the landlord ? 

J. R. One who is able to give us a quiet pos- 
session of it. 

Sir J. G. 1 demand of you who is the landlord 
of it? 

J. R. The king is our landlord. 

Sir J. G. How is the king your landlord ? 



JOHN ROBERTS. 59 

J* R. It is the king's land, and we pay the 
king's auditors. And we are not only his peace- 
able subjects, but also his good tenants, who pay 
him his rent. Therefore we have reason to hope 
he will give us peaceable possession of our bar- 
gain. 

Sir J. G. Who pays the king's auditors ? 

R. B. I do. 

Sir J. G. Set down Richard Bowley 201. for 
the house. 

J. R. Who is that [speaking to the other jus- 
tices,] who is so forward to take names, and levy 
fines ? 

Jus. Burcher. Don't you know him ? 'Tis Sir 
J. Guise. 

Sir J. G. What's that to you ? What's your 
name? 

J. R. I am not ashamed of my name. But 
if thy name be John Guise, I knew thy father by 
a very remarkable incident ; and I would have thee 
take warning by thy father. — A word to the wise 
is sufficient. 

Sir J. G. Here, constable, take this fellow and 
lay him by the heels ; he affronts me. 

J. R. My heels, man ! Fear and dread the 
living God. I am not afraid of being laid by the 
heels. The constable not being forward to obey 
his orders, he took my father by one arm, and bid 
the constable take him by the other. So they led 
him into the street, and bid him go about his busi- 
ness. " I am about my business," said my fa- 
ther ; and, on their going in again, my father fol- 
lowed them. 

Sir J. G. Hayward, I thought I had you out. 
What do you do here again ? 



60 MEMOIRS OF 

J. R. I come to see how thou behavest among 
my friends ; and if thou dost not behave thyself 
well, I shall make bold to tell thee of it. 

Sir J. G. I command you in the king's name 
to go out again. 

J. R. If thou pleasest to go out first, I'll fol- 
low. With some pains he got all his friends out 
of the house, and ordered all the forms to be 
brought out into the street. Which was done. 
On which my father said, "The 'seats are our 
own, and we may as well sit as stand." So the 
Friends sat down ; but presently they were broke 
up and dispersed. 

Not long after, John Timbrel, a Friend of Ci- 
rencester, wrote to justice Burcher, and told him, 
amongst other things, he had till then a better 
opinion of him than to think he would set his 
hand to such a work ; and that he was sorry he 
should be one in it. Sir John being acquainted 
with it by justice Burcher, sent out a special war- 
rant against J. Timbrel. The constable who had 
it to serve was so civil as to inform him of it, and 
tell him he would not serve it on him till the mar- 
ket was over. However, he left his market, came 
to my father, told him of the warrant, and asked 
his advice. My father advised him not to stay 
for the serving of the warrant, but go directly for 
Sir John. He engaging my father to accompany 
him, away they went. 

When they came before Sir John, J. Timbrel 
said, " I heard thou hast sent out a warrant to 
bring me before thee ; but I chose rather to come 
without it." 

Sir John. What's your name ? 

J. Timbrel. My name is John Timbrel. 



JOHN ROBERTS. 61 

Sir J. Are you that saucy pragmatic fellow 
that wrote to Mr. Burcher, to deter him from exe- 
cuting the king's laws? 

J. T. Hast thou seen the letter ? 

Sir J. No: but I have an account of it. 

J. R. Then, though thou art a young man, I 
desire thee to show thyself so much a wise man, 
as not to condemn any thing thou hast not seen. 
I have seen a copy of it, and think there is a great 
deal of good advice in it ; and I wish both thou and 
William Burcher were so wise as to take it. 

Sir J. I thought you were the writer or inditer 
of it, though Timbrel's name was to it. 

J. R. No, I was not. I knew nothing of it till 
after it was sent. 

Sir J. But I remember you affronted me t'other 
day, before a great number of people, concerning 
my father. Pray what do you know of my father ? 

J. R. Some time ago, several of my friends 
being met together with me, in a peaceable man- 
ner, to worship God at Stoke Orchard, thy father 
came in with a file of musqueteers at his heels, 
and beat and abused us very much. I then warn- 
ed him in abundance of love. Yet he did not 
seem to regard it, but sent about twelve of us to 
Gloucester castle. I then told him God would 
plead our cause with him. And I was credibly 
informed, that (not the very night, but) the next 
night after, he went to bed as well in appearance 
as usual; but in the morning, he not ringing a cer- 
tain bell, which he had by him for that purpose, 
at the time he used to do, his housekeeper went 
up several times, and thought he was asleep ; but 
at length suspecting something more than ordina- 
ry, she made a closer inspection ; and, perceiving 
6 



62 MEMOJRS OF 

his countenance changed, she threw open the cur- 
tains in a great surprise ; on which he just flashed 
open his eyes, but said not a word. She asked 
him how he did? but he made no answer; which 
made her cry more earnestly, " Pray, sir, how do 
you do ? how is it with you ? For God's sake 
tell me." And all he said to her was, " Oh ! these 
Quakers ! Oh ! these Quakers ! Would to God 
I never had a hand against these Quakers !" I 
did not hear that ever he spoke more. 

Sir John seemed surprised at this rejation, and 
did not contradict it in the least ; which, it is rea- 
sonable to think, he would, and with resentment 
too, had it not been true. Yet, notwithstanding 
this fair warning, he continued his practice of 
granting warrants against us. But the officers 
were generally so civil as to acquaint us with it 
in time. 

Some time after this, Sir J. Guise and Sir Rob- 
ert Atkins, being at Perrot's Brook, two miles from 
Cirencester, quarreled as they were gaming. Sir 
John drew his sword, and demanded satisfaction. 
But those in the house stept between them, and 
parted them. They seeming to appear pacified, 
sat down to play again ; but afterwards, taking a 
walk together in the Bowling-green, the breast of 
Sir John being still rilled with resentment, he said, 
" Sir Robert, you gave me the lie, and I will have 
satisfaction." 

Sir Robert. If I have said any thing more than 
is common for gentlemen to say to each other in 
their play, betwixt you and I, I ask your pardon. 
Sir John. If you'll go in, and ask it before the 
people of the house, I will put it up ; otherwise I 
will not. 



JOHN ROBERTS. 63 

Sir Robert. No, sir John, that's beneath me. 

Sir John. Then draw, or you shall die like a 
dog. 

They both drew ; and sir Robert gave him a 
gentle prick in the arm, and said, I desire you, sir 
John, to take that for satisfaction. I could have 
had you elsewhere, but was unwilling to do you 
farther mischief. 

Sir John. I'll kill, or be killed ! 

Sir Robert. If that be your mind, look to your- 
self as well as you can, for I shall have you at 
next pass. 

And so he had ; for he ran him through, in at 
the belly, and out at the back ; on which he fell. 
Sir Robert stept up to him, unbuttoned his clothes, 
tore his shirt down, and gently drew out his sword; 
and then, after he had well sucked the wound, ta- 
king his handkerchief, he rolled the corners of it 
hard, and thrust it into the orifice ; then buttoning 
his clothes, he lifted him up, and desired him, 
while he was able, that he would acquaint the 
people of the house that his death was of his own 
seeking. And, when they were come about him, 
he was so generous as to say, " If I die, sir Rob- 
ert is clear ; for if he had not killed me, I would 
have killed him." 

Sir Robert procured him surgeons ; and after a 
while, when great pains came upon him, he la- 
mented himself much, and said, "It was the just 
hand of God upon him for meddling with the 
Quakers. But if he will be pleased to spare me, 
and try me again, I'll never have a hand against 
them any more. For Hay ward told me, if I went 
on persecuting, the same hand that overtook my 
father, would overtake me before I was aware,— * 



64 MEMOIRS OF 

He further told me, I was set on by some envious 
priests ; and I might have time to repent it. And 
so I do with all my heart. And 'tis true I could 
never come into company with Mr. Careless or 
Mr. Freame, but they would be stirring me up to 
put the laws in execution against dissenters." 

The sword having missed his entrails, he re- 
covered, stood candidate for the county after, and 
never more disturbed our meetings. 

The next thing I shall take notice of, is the pro- 
ceedings of justice James George against my fa- 
ther, my brother Nathaniel, and myself. He came 
to the Ram tavern in Cirencester, and sent for my 
brother and me. My father went with us, and 
when we came thither, he said, " 'Tis very well, 
John, that you are come too. I sent for your 
sons, to let them know it is his majesty's pleasure 
to have the laws put in execution : and now I take 
this opportunity to let them and you know that 
we must all be of one church." 

J. Roberts. Thou oughtest then to be well as- 
sured that it be the right church* For if thou 
shouldst be so far permitted to exercise the author- 
ity thou art intrusted with, as to force a man against 
his conscience to conform to a wrong church, 
thou canst not indemnify that man for so conform- 
ing in the day of account. I have read, indeed, 
that our Saviour made a whip of small cords to 
whip the buyers and sellers out of the temple ; 
but I never read that he whipped any in. 

The window of the room being open, we had 
a prospect of Cirencester Tower ; and the justice 
pointing to it, said, " What do you call that, 
John ?" 

J. R. Thou mayst call it a daw-house, if thou 



JOHN ROBERTS. 65 

pleasest. Dost thou not see how the jack-daws 
flock about it ? 

Justice. Well, notwithstanding your jesting, 
I warn you, in the king's name, that you meet no 
more, as you'll answer it at your peril. 

J. R. Then I suppose thou thinkest thou hast 
done thy duty. 

Justice. Yes. 

J. R. Then I desire thee to give me leave to 
do my duty. And I do now warn thee, in the 
name of the King of kings, and Lord of lords, not 
to molest or hinder us in the peaceful exercise of 
our duty to God, as thou wilt answer it at an- 
other day. 

A little time after this, he sent to the officers, 
to bid them go to the Quakers' meeting-house on 
Sunday next, and bring their names to him. The 
officers were very unwilling to obey his com- 
mand ; and some of them acquainted me with their 
orders, desiring we would not meet at the usual 
time, or otherwise that we would meet at another 
place. I told them, we did not dare so far to de- 
ny the worship of our God ; for, said I, we wor- 
ship tho same God that Daniel did; and he, not- 
withstanding the severe decree of the king, failed 
not openly to own God, by praying to him, with 
his window open, as usual. And our God is the 
same he was in Daniel's days, as able to stop the 
mouth of the lion as he was then. And we are 
not afraid to trust in him, having had experience 
of many deliverances he hath wrought for us. 

The next first day we met, at the time and place 

we used to meet; and a good meeting we had, the 

living presence of the Lord being sensibly felt 

among us. One of the constables came in, and 

6* 



66 MEMOIRS OF 

delivered a warrant to my brother John, desiring 
him to read it. But my brother put it in his pock- 
et, telling him he designed to read it when the 
meeting was over. " That will not do," said he; 
" for if you will not read it now, I desire you to 
give it me again." Which he did. And then they 
took a list of several of our names, and carried it 
to justice George. On which he sent out his war- 
rants to distrain our goods. They seized my fa- 
ther's corn in his barns, and locked up the barn 
doors. At that time the murrain had seized the 
justice's cattle, and they died apace. His steward 
told him that he must send for John Hay ward, or 
he would lose all his cattle. " No," said the jus- 
tice, " don't send for him now, because I have 
warrants out against him and his sons. Send for 
any body else now." So the steward sent for 
another; who did what he could for them, but to 
very little purpose ; for the cattle continued to 
sicken, and die as before. The steward then told 
him, " Please worship, if you don't send for John 
Hayward, I believe you will lose all your cattle ; 
for now the bull is sick, aud off his meat, and I 
don't find as this man does them any good. But 
if you please to send for John, I don't question 
but he could be of service to them." " Send for 
him, then," said the justice, " but don't bring him 
in as you used to do. When he has done what 
he can, pay him and dismiss him." So my fa- 
ther was sent for, and went (having learned the 
great Christian lesson, to return good for evil) and 
did his best for them. When he had done, as he 
was wiping his hands in the entry, the justice un- 
designedly came by him ; and, seeing he could 
not avoid his notice, said, "So, John, you have 



JOHN ROBERTS. 67 

done something for my cattle I suppose." "Yes," 
said my father, " and I hope it will do them 
good." " Well," said the justice to the steward, 
" pay John." 

J. Roberts. No, Til have none of thy money. 

Justice. None of my money ! Why so ? 

J. R. To what purpose is it for me to take a 
little of thy money by retail, and thou come and 
take my goods by wholesale? 

Jus. Don't you think your coming to drink 
and bleed my cattle will deter me from executing 
the king's laws ? 

J. R. It's time enough for thee to deny me a 
favor when I ask it of thee. I seek no favor at 
thy hands. But, when thou hast done me all the 
displeasure thou art permitted to do, I will, not- 
withstanding, serve thee or thine to the utmost of 
my power. 

Jus. Well, John, you must stay and dine with 
me. 

J. R. Perhaps I shall intrude if I stay. I had 
rather be excused. 

Jus. 'Tis no intrusion, John ; you shall stay. 

So my father staid, and presented him with a 
piece of Thomas Ellwood's, against persecution. 
Which, together with my father's readiness to 
serve him, so wrought on him, that I don't re- 
member any of his corn being taken from him at 
that time. But my brother Nathaniel and myself, 
being partners in trade in Cirencester, were fined 
by this justice George (for ourselves and some 
unable persons present with us at the meeting) 
seventy pounds. 

Some time after came to our house Sir Thomas 
Cutter, with other justices, the sheriff of the coun- 



68 MEMOIRS OF 

ty, his men, and two constables. Our neighbors, 
in good will to us, shut our doors, and the maid 
fastened them on the inside ; but the justices gave 
orders they should be broke open. A young wo- 
man being in the shop when it was done, ran out 
at the back door in a fright. Which Sir Thomas 
seeing, said, " There's one gone ! there might as 
well be five hundred gone ! I'll take my oath 
here was a conventicle." I, being near him, bid 
him take care what he said or swore, because he 
must give account, and he knew not how soon. 
A servant belonging to one of them took off my 
hat, and laid it on the table. I took it and put it 
on again, saying, I hope a man may keep his hat 
on in his own house, without offence to any per- 
son. 

Sir Thomas. What's your name? 

D. Roberts. Daniel Roberts. 

Six T, Can you swear ? 

D. R. Not that I know of; I never tried. 

Sir T. Then you must begin now. 

D. R. I think I shall not. 

Sir T. How will you help it? 

D. R. By not doing it. But if thou canst con- 
vince me by that book in thy hand (which was 
the Bible) that it is lawful to swear, since Christ 
forbids it, then I will swear. For when men come 
and say you must swear or suffer, 'tis but reason- 
able to expect such men should be qualified to 
prove it lawful. Our Saviour says, " Swear not at 
all." Thou sayest, " I must swear." Pray which 
must I obey ? 

Sir T, Well, Daniel, if you will not swear, 
you must go to jail. 

D. R. The will of God be done. For be it 



JOHN ROBERTS. 69 

known to you, we had rather be in prison, and 
enjoy our peace with God, than be at liberty, and 
break our peace with him. 

Justice Parsons. I suppose you are one of John 
Hay ward's sons. 

D. R. Yes. 

Jus. P. I am sorry for that. 

D. R. Why art thou sorry for that? I never 
heard an honest man speak against my father in 
my life. What hast thou against him ? 

Sir T. That he has not only misled himself, 
but is also a means to mislead others. 

D. R. If you have nothing against him but his 
obedience to the law of his God, that's no more 
than the accusers of honest Daniel had against 
him ; and that does not concern me. 

Sir T. His worshiping God in the way he 
does is crime enough. 

D. R. Then I hope I shall be a criminal as 
long as I live. 

Then they seized what goods they pleased, and 
took them away with them. And after they had 
tendered to us the oaths twice more, our mitti- 
muses were made, and we were sent to Glouces- 
ter castle ; where we found several of our friends 
before us ; and, with them that were sent in soon 
after us, we became a family of forty or fifty. — 
The jailer's name was John Landborne ; and for 
a piece of service I did him gratis in his absence, 
(i. e. officiating as key-turner, and preventing two 
notorious robbers from breaking out) I could pre- 
vail with him to let several of our friends go home, 
when occasion particularly required, for some 
time together. We, being a large number of us 
in the prison, had often large meetings, on the 



70 MEMOIRS OF 

first days, in the castle. Divers of the prisoners 
who were not of us, as well as several people out 
the city, would come and sit down with us. — 
Therefore, Richard Parsons, one of our persecu- 
tors, who lived in the city, came to our morning 
meeting, accompanied with several others. My 
father was present with us, and Henry Panton, 
(who had formerly been a fencing-master) was 
preaching when they came in, concerning the con- 
fession of some, who perpetually say they are do- 
ing of what they ought not, and leaving undone 
what they ought to do. Which words Parsons, 
(who was a priest, a chancellor, and a justice,) 
took hold of, telling him " he was complaining 
of others for what he was doing himself. For," 
said he, " you are now doing what you ought not, 
and leaving undone what you ought to do;" catch- 
ing hold of his gray locks to pull him down. But 
Henry being a tall man, pretty strong and active, 
though in years, he stood his ground and spoke 
over his head. Parsons then strove to stop his 
mouth ; but he avoided it by turning his head 
aside. When he had done speaking, a Friend 
stood up, and said, " 'Tis a sign the devil's hard 
put to it to have his drudgery done, that priests 
must leave their pulpits and parishoners to take 
up the business of informers against poor prison- 
ers in the prison." 

After priest Parsons had been some time endea- 
voring to get the names of some present, and no- 
body would give him information, he thus broke 
out : *' If you are thereabouts, I shall be even with 
you another way." For he had got a list of sev- 
eral of the prisoners' names ; and taking for grant- 
ed they were all present at the time, he sent out 



JOHN ROBERTS. 7l 

his warrants for distraining- their goods. However, herein 
he was mistaken ; for several were then absent ; amongst 
whom was Lettice Gush, a widow, who lived about twenty 
miles distant. Some officers were sent to her house to dis- 
train her goods, for being at this meeting, when she was 
twenty miles from the place. When the officers came, she 
told them she was not at meeting ; and, to convince them, 
persuaded them to go with her to her landlord, who was also 
a justice of the peace, and knew what she said to be true. 
When they came before him, and shewed him the warrant, 
u What a rascal," said he, " is this Parsons ! Here he says 
he'll take his oath that my tenant was convicted by him of 
being at a conventicle in Gloucester castle, such a day of 
the month; and I'll take my oath she was at home at the 
same time, which is twenty miles off. If you touch any of 
her goods by virtue of this warrant, be it at your peril. I'll 
assure you, if you do, I'll stick close to your skirts." 

Officerr What can we do in this case ? How can we 
make a legal return of the warrant without executing it? 

Landlord. Carry it back to Mr. Parsons, * * # #- * an d 
I'll bear you out in it. 

So they returned without giving her any further trouble. 
Another warrant was issued out against Francis Boy, phy- 
sician, on the same account, and of the same value, who 
was likewise absent at the time of his pretended conviction. 
When the officers came to distrain his goods, he was not at 
home. So his cattle were taken away, to the value of be- 
tween 20 and 30Z. He afterwards, on inspection, found by 
his books, that he was attending a gentleman the time he 
was said to be convicted. To this gentleman he went, and 
inquired of him, "if he could remember the day he attend- 
ed him?" The gentleman answered, " He had good reason 
to remember it ; for," said he, " if you had not done what 
you did for me that day, I believe I should have been now 
in my grave." He then informed the gentleman of the rea- 
son that induced him to give him that trouble. " Well,' r 
replied he, " I advise you to appeal to the next quarter ses- 
sions for redress; and you may assure yourself, I'll endea- 
vor to serve you what lies in my power ; for I'll take my 
.oath before any judge, or bench of justices in England, that 
you were with me that day." But it so fell out that they 
had no occasion to appeal. For it soon took air that he had^ 



72 MEMOIRS OF J. ROBERTS. 

such a substantial evidence in his favor ; and his cattle were 
returned before the sessions. 

Not long- after, it pleased God to visit our dear father with 
sickness, which proved mortal. I had leave to attend him 
the major part of the time he was sick ; and the Lord was 
pleased to favor him with his living presence in his last mo- 
ments ; and having honorably finished his day's work, he 
departed this life in the year 1683, and was interred in the 
piece of ground he had long before given to Friends for a 
burying place, situate at the lower end of his orchard, at 
Siddington, near Cirencester. 

Some time after his interment I had the news that my 
brother and myself, with four Friends more, were discharged 
by the judge ; but that the other four were detained for their 
fees. I therefore went down to use my interest with the 
jailer for their discharge. I found him ill in bed; and he 
told me he was very willing to remit the fees belonging to 
himself; but there were some due to the under-sheriff, and 
those not in his power. But soon after, Providence so or- 
dered, that v/e all had our liberty : and I came and settled 
at my present habitation in Chessham, in Buckinghamshire, 
where I have now dwelt about forty years. 

Thus, considering that it would be a great pity these 
singular providences of the Almighty should not be record- 
ed for the benefit of posterity, I was willing, for my own 
perusal, and that of my family, and some few particular 
friends, to commit them to writing. In the doing of which, 
respecting the several conferences my father had with the 
bishops, and others before mentioned, I have been careful 
to pen them down in the same words they were then ex- 
pressed in, as near as I could recollect, or at least to retain 
the genuine sense and purport of them. Which, reader, 
if they tend to thy confirmation and encouragement in a 
Course of true Christian piety, I have my end- — who am 

Your sincere friend, 

DANIEL ROBERTS. 

Chessham, 4th month, 1725. 






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